


angels roll their eyes

by icouldbuildacastle



Series: hp stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, anybody know Lee Jordan's patronus?, dunking on the inquisitorial squad for 3k words, making out but it's just for the plan, no feelings involved! absolutely not!, the great DA escape of 1995
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27597589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icouldbuildacastle/pseuds/icouldbuildacastle
Summary: “Look Granger, I don’t know what she’s going to do with the members she catches, but I assure you – it will be a lot worse than the punishment for snogging in a broom cupboard.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley
Series: hp stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017580
Comments: 16
Kudos: 128





	1. 1

Hermione would like to be able to say that she has no idea how she ended up here, but unfortunately, she can link the sequence of events together quite clearly. And at every turn, there she was, making choices that led her to this very moment.

 _Here_ being a broom cupboard on the sixth floor, east wing. _This moment_ being the explosive breakdown of what had been a pleasant D.A. meeting into a chase throughout the castle. Hermione imagined that this is what running from the cops must feel like, and deeply resented the fact that she was in a position to feel that way.

Of course, Hermione doesn’t really regret fighting for fellow student’s and her own right to a proper defense education. She _does_ regret not putting a stronger jinx on that piece of parchment, however. And she _really_ regrets that when this all blew up in her face and the D.A. had to scatter like mice, she chose to dart after Fred Weasley. As opposed to like, literally anyone else.

In her defense, at the time he had seemed like the best option.

Now, she was here. In the broom cupboard on the sixth floor, east wing. And at the moment was being hunted down by at least a dozen Inquisitorial Squad members, Filch, Mrs. Norris and last but certainly the worst, Umbridge.

Oh, and Fred Weasley was also in the sixth-floor broom cupboard. And he had one hand pressing into the small of her back, the other cupping her face.

“Fred Weasley, I _swear to God-_ ” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Look Granger, I don’t know what she’s going to do with the members she catches, but I assure you – it will be a lot worse than the punishment for snogging in a broom cupboard.”

“Have some experience with the punishment for that, do you?” Hermione asked snidely. She could see the white of Fred’s teeth as he grinned down at her.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

He was so close that the heat of his breath warmed her face. Hermione tried to take a deep breath without actually breathing deeply, because he’d probably be able to tell and for some reason that seemed like it would be embarrassing. She was winding up to deliver a list of _Reasons Why This Was An Idiotic Idea, Actually_ to Fred when her ears caught some faint noise and she whipped her head around. 

Fred and Hermione fell deathly silent, not even breathing, having heard the footsteps at the exact same moment. They were the heavy footfalls of a person who had the authority to be in the corridors past ten o’clock, and that could only spell trouble for the two students hiding in a broom closet. Hermione’s heart began pounding, and as the adrenaline coursed through her veins afresh, Fred’s idea seemed a lot more reasonable. Fight, flight, snog. Or whatever.

“Fine,” Hermione hissed back, glad that it was too dark for him to see the way her face was burning. She could feel sweat begin to gather on her neck, making her hair stick unpleasantly.

“ _Fine_ ,” he repeated in a high, mocking voice.

“I don’t _sound like that_ , Fred- mmph!“

If her mouth had been free, Hermione would have been spluttering indignantly. As it was, Fred was kissing her. She meant to pull back, but somehow her hands on his chest ended up fisting his shirt instead of, you know… pushing him away. And then Fred tilted his head a bit, and that made the angle better, so her nose wasn’t smushed against his anymore. Then Hermione, well, _unconsciously_ might have tilted her own head up a bit to compensate for his height. Fred had just opened his mouth against hers, parting her lips and making her fall a little further into his chest, when the cupboard door slammed open and flooded the space with cooler air and wand-light.

“Ugh, _Weasley_ ,” a deep male voice scoffed in disgust. _Definitely not Malfoy, could be Goyle or Warrington?_

“That’s me,” Fred replied, and fuck if Hermione couldn’t picture the _exact_ irritated look on his face right now. The same one he gave her when she tried to curtail his creating egregious safety hazards. She buried her head in his chest and sank further into the cupboard wall, praying that her rather distinctive hair wasn’t showing. Fred’s arm was caged around her head, tucking her neatly into him, but still. “Well, it’s been great seeing you, Montague. Now, if you don’t mind…?”

“Not so fast, Weasley,” Montague spat out. “We’ve got an illegal study group on the run tonight. Know anything about that?”

“You’re asking _me_. If I know anything about a _study group_?” Fred sounded so insulted that Hermione almost bought the act. She had to bite her cheek to prevent hysterical laughter from bubbling up. She could hear Montague huffing and puffing, getting flustered the way prefects always did in the face of the Weasley twins.

“Well the members seem to be all your little friends, so yeah. I am asking.”

 _Oh no,_ Hermione thought. _He knows who the other members are?_

“I’m not sure where you usually meet your study groups,” Fred’s voice was dripping condescension. “But I assume it’s somewhere with better lighting. And more space.”

“You think you’re real smart, don’t you Weasley?” Montague sneered. 

“I mean, yeah.” Fred was so matter-of-fact that Hermione could cry. The sheer rush of this moment, of Fred talking back to Montague, of listening to him be rude to someone who deserved it- incredible. “Now, if you really wouldn’t mind…”

Fred trailed off as he reached for the handle of the cupboard, pulling it shut on Montague’s presumably stunned face, whispering a sotto voice, “ _Sorry love_ ,” in her ear. He slid his mouth back over hers, claiming her lips in a way that made audible, wet noises. Hermione could hear the spluttering from outside the door and held her breath, but Montague apparently had had enough of dealing with a Weasley twin for the night. His footsteps echoed as he stormed off down the corridor, east-bound, if Hermione was judging the direction of the sound correctly. Perfect, her and Fred needed to escape to the west. He pulled away from Hermione and took a half-step back, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. She took the opportunity to smooth down her robes and assess her hair as a lost cause.

“What a fucking idiot,” Fred muttered, rolling his eyes. Hermione nodded, a little baffled herself.

“He didn’t even try to check who was with you?” Hermione was a bit aghast. “I mean, I’m not complaining, but…”

“What else could we expect from a member of the _esteemed_ Inquisitorial Squad? She’s pulling the cream of the crop for that one, obviously,” Fred replied dryly. Hermione finally gave in to the desire to laugh that she had been holding back for the past two minutes.

“Fuck, is it bad that I’m insulted by how easy he was to trick?” Hermione asked through her laughter and attempts to breathe. “How did the D.A. get busted by a bunch of people _that_ thick?”

“Did you just say ‘fuck’? Did I hear that right? Did I just witness _the_ Hermione Granger, Prefect and Goody-Two-Shoes Extraordinaire, use the word ‘fuck’?” Fred was wide-eyed and serious, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to look him in the eye.

“Oh, fuck off Fred,” Hermione rolled her eyes. Fred still looked shocked, and Hermione swatted his hands off her shoulders. “Shut up.”

She climbed out of the cupboard, and tried to forget the way Fred’s mouth looked when he said _fuck_. The corridor was clear down both directions, and completely quiet now. Hermione gathered up her hair, wincing as she felt the way sweat had matted together the curls at the base of her neck. She twisted it firmly and tucked the ends under the bun, trusting it to hold until she could finally get in the shower. Fred was watching her with a strange expression, and Hermione self-consciously pushed down her baby hairs and patted her head to check for large bumps.

“What?” she asked, slightly nervous. God, she hoped he couldn’t see how sweaty the hair near her scalp had become.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just- I never see you with your hair up,” Fred shook his head a bit, and whatever that expression had been disappeared.

“I had it up for the Yule Ball,” Hermione pointed out.

“Wow, a whole year ago! Thank you, for proving my point,” Fred teased and Hermione huffed out a reluctant laugh.

“Come on, we need to get back to the common room. We still have another floor and a half to go, and I don’t know if any other squad members are still running about.”

“I’ve got both eyes peeled for Mrs. Norris, Granger, never fear.” Fred swung an arm over her shoulders and tucked her into his side. It felt different with her hair up. Usually her hair was just getting pulled painfully and Hermione tried to escape the hold as quickly as possible, but like this she could feel the wool of his sweater brushing along her neck. It was almost… nice. “Here, this portrait will take us down to the fifth floor.”

Fred brushed his knuckles down the ornate frame, and it swung open like a door to reveal a fairly normal-looking hallway. Hermione jumped over the threshold, a little disappointed in herself. If she hadn’t been so worked up from the stress and adrenaline she would’ve remembered that the passageway was there. Harry, Ron and her often took it on the way back from the Room of Requirement.

“So…” Fred began as they trooped down the corridor, Hermione’s legs feeling heavier with every step. “Who’d you reckon snitched?”

“I have some theories,” Hermione muttered darkly, remembering how fidgety Cho Chang’s little friend had been for months. “We’ll know tomorrow for certain, though.”  
  
“What’d you mean?” Fred looked at her sideways.

“Remember that parchment you signed at the Hog’s Head?” she asked. Fred nodded in recognition. “It’s jinxed. Whoever tried to talk about the D.A. is going to have ‘snitch’ written all over their face. Literally.”

Fred came to a stop and once more planted his hands firmly on her shoulders. He had a similar shocked look on his face as when he heard her swear, but this time it was tinged with awe.

“Hermione. You are my _hero_.”

Hermione reached up to remove his hands from her shoulders, once again, but this time Fred caught on to her hands and held her in place.

“Really, I didn’t know you had it in you! That was so _devious_. And not even telling us you had done it? Quite the schemer, aren’t you, Granger?”

Uncomfortably aware of how their fingers were still laced together, Hermione decided to ask in a wry tone, “How would you feel if I told you that the word is going to be spelled out with oozing pimples?”

Fred doubled over laughing, and Hermione felt quite pleased with herself. Not only had she gotten her hands free of his (which were covered in callouses and small, shiny burns – not that she was noticing!) but she had made Fred Weasley laugh. She, who Fred called a stick-in-the-mud at least once a month, had him gasping for air! Hermione let herself bask in a smug glow before returning to the reality of the night. Betrayal. It tasted bitter in her mouth, and her lips pursed pensively as Fred straightened himself out.

“That’s it for Dumbledore’s Army, you know,” she stated. “There’s no way we’ll be able to get away with another meeting until Umbridge leaves.”

“George and I will be making it our personal mission to ensure exactly that happens.”

The statement set off vague warning bells in Hermione’s system, but she was so exhausted and angry that she decided not to pay it any mind.

“You’re just full of surprises tonight, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes at him for probably the tenth time, and he elbowed her side.

“Don’t look at me like that! Let’s see,” he began ticking off on his fingers. “You’re a very fast runner, you jinx unsuspecting traitors, you swear, you’re an excellent kisser. I’m learning so much about you!”

“Well, let’s try not to do it again,” Hermione responded, crossing her arms. It was all she could do to not say, _you think I’m_ _an excellent kisser?_

The adrenaline of sprinting away from Umbridge and her cronies was beginning to fade, as well as the punch-drunk high that came from tricking Montague and kissing Fred. All that remained was bone-deep exhaustion and worry. Hermione began to worry her lip between her teeth, and shot nervous glances at Fred from the corner of her eyes. It was all she could do to not wring her hands together in concern, and she clenched the fabric inside her pockets to keep them there.

“Do- do you think-” Hermione began, but could hardly bring herself to finish. Fred turned his head to look at her straight-on, and his brows furrowed. He seemed to know what she was trying to ask.

“I don’t know,” he answered slowly, uncharacteristically solemn. That didn’t make Hermione feel better at all, and she swallowed hard.

“God, if anyone gets in trouble, or expelled, or _imprisoned_ … it will be _my fault_ ,” Hermione choked out, blinking hard around the tears welling up. Her throat burned with the effort of holding back a sob.

“Hey- hey, no it’s not, it’s not your fault!”

“But it _is_ Fred!” Hermione would’ve have wailed if she wasn’t so worried about being heard by whoever might still be roaming the halls. She pressed her palms hard to her eyes, and took a few gasping breaths. “It is. This was all my idea. Harry didn’t want to do it, even Ron thought it would be too risky. But I knew best, didn’t I! I should have never set this up in the first place.”

At this, Fred stopped and pulled Hermione into his arms, giving her a firm hug. She was too exhausted to even try to squirm away, and just rested her forehead on his collarbone.

“Hermione, you don’t even know if anyone is in trouble yet,” Fred reasoned. He rubbed circles in between her shoulder blades. “Look, one day, it’s going to become undeniable that You-Know-Who is back. And everyone will realize that Harry and Dumbledore were telling the truth all along, and Fudge will be removed from office, and Umbridge will be kicked out of Hogwarts. And any unfair punishments, or expulsions – _not_ that I’m saying anyone is being expelled right now! – can be reversed.”

Hermione’s throat burned worse than ever. She tried to nod, but all the logic in the world couldn’t take away the pit in her stomach. “I am just _so tired_ of waiting.”

“I know,” Fred murmured. “Me too.”

They didn’t talk the rest of the way back to the common room, and Hermione tried desperately to think of anything besides Harry and Ron - where they might be, what might be happening to them at this very moment. She tried not to think about Umbridge, or Voldemort, or the Order, or anything else that might make her burst into tears that she wouldn’t be able to control.

When the Fat Lady saw the pair approach, she didn’t even ask for the password before swinging open to permit them entry. The portrait’s face was grim, and Hermione could barely manage a ‘thanks’ as she hauled herself through.

The common room was much fuller than it should have been at this time of night, and every head snapped up to check who was coming through the portrait hole. Hermione’s eyes immediately found the redheads sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

“Ron!” she gasped. “Ginny! You made it back!”

Ron leaped off the sofa and met Hermione in two strides, bundling her up in a tight hug. A moment later Hermione swayed from the impact of another body crashing into them, and knew that Ginny had joined the embrace. To the side, Hermione heard other greetings being passed about.

“Good to see you, Freddie.” “And you, Georgie.”

She raised her head and released Ron and Ginny, scanning them over to make sure they were unscathed. Her friends did the same to her, and Hermione began a headcount as they headed back to the sofa. They collapsed together, and Hermione toed off her shoes to warm her aching feet by the fire.

“It seems like almost everybody made it back,” Hermione said in a low tone, trying to hide the hint of foreboding.

“Yeah, just about everyone’s alright,” Ron agreed softly, although his jaw was clenched. “Except-”

“Harry,” Ginny finished flatly. “He’s still not back.”

The three sat with that uncomfortable statement hanging over them for a few minutes.

“So, how’d you escape?” Ginny finally broke the silence, turning towards Hermione.

“Oh- well,” Hermione didn’t know why she felt so flustered suddenly. Her eyes darted over to where the twins were grouped with their friends, and found Fred already looking at her. She desperately willed down a blush and quickly turned her gaze back to Ginny. “I just followed Fred out, we took that secret passageway behind the painting of those Quidditch players on the sixth floor. What about you? Did you guys run together?”

Ginny was eyeing Hermione with sudden suspicion, so she looked at Ron’s much safer face instead. He was oblivious to his little sister’s narrowing eyes. “Yeah, we were with Lee and Katie. Hid behind that tapestry of the boar eating grapes, the one with the little room behind it, until the coast was clear. Then we used that smaller staircase to put us out on the third floor, figured they wouldn’t be patrolling there as much because they expected us to all run for our common rooms straight away. Then Lee showed us a few secret passageways and we doubled back around to Gryffindor tower. Almost got caught by Warrington, though.”

“Oh no,” Hermione gasped. Ginny punched her arm.

“It was fine. He almost got us at the very end, but the Fat Lady let us in without the password so he didn’t hear our voices. The dolt tried to interrogate the Fat Lady as to who had just gone through, if you can believe that, and she gave him a right telling off,” Ginny tried to chuckle, but her heart wasn’t in it. Hermione hummed apathetically and dropped her chin in her palms dejectedly. Ron gave her a few awkward pats on the back, and Ginny rested her head on the older girl’s shoulder. Hermione was sinking into the exhaustion, the fire swimming before her dry eyes. The only thing keeping her upright was anxiety about Harry. Where _was_ he?

Several blobs filled her vision, blocking the dancing flames of the fire which had gone blurry in her unfocused gaze. She blinked a few times, making the figures of the Gryffindor chasers and three boys come into focus.

“Hey Granger,” Fred greeted, and Hermione nodded at him and his twin, as well as the other seventh-year Gryffindors gathered with him. He gently tousled her bun, “Thanks for being an excellent escape partner. I guess all those times chasing trouble with Harry and Ron trained you up nicely.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, but granted him a small smile. She noticed the three older girls gazing down at her sympathetically. Alicia’s eyes looked slightly puffy, like she might have been crying, and Katie’s eyes seemed nearly sunken in from the dark circles under them.

“I’m sorry this happened,” she apologized to them, guilt washing over her once again. Ron bumped her leg with his knee.

“Don’t, Granger, it wasn’t your fault,” George assured her, just as his twin had done earlier.

“Yeah, we all know whose fault it is. I swear, if I could just get my hands on that bitch…” Angelina growled. _‘Hear, hear,’_ Ginny muttered. Hermione could think of several unsavory things she’d like to do to Umbridge, herself.

“At least we learned a lot while it lasted,” Katie Bell pointed out, ever a source of optimism. “Taught me more in a few months than most defense professors have managed in a year.”

“Of course, this would happen right as I was finally getting my Patronus,” Lee complained, trying to lighten the mood. Angelina snorted.

“You weren’t about to get _shit_ , Jordan…”

The group wandered off, trooping up the spiral staircases to try and get some sleep. They were going to need it, because Hermione knew Umbridge would surely bring some fresh hell in the morning. Right before he turned the corner, Fred glanced back one more time. Hermione flushed at having been caught staring again, and turned her gaze back to the portrait hole.

Ginny’s eyes darted between Fred’s disappearing back and Hermione, and she poked the older girl in the ribcage. “Don’t think you’re just getting away with this,” she hissed in Hermione’s ear. “I’ve taken that passageway, you should’ve been back ages ago if that’s all that happened.”

Hermione swatted the hand away from her ribs, and rolled her eyes. ‘ _Fine,_ ’ she mouthed at Ginny. That gave her until at least tomorrow to come up with some cover story about how her and Fred did run into some trouble but ultimately made a daring escape, while figuring out how to omit all the kissing.


	2. 2

It had been a full week under the oppressive reign of Delores Umbridge when Hermione felt some spark of hope again. Dumbledore was gone, the D.A. had been disbanded, Harry was lost and angry, and Hermione was bereft without a plan. She knew things were bad before, but it just seemed so much _darker_ without Dumbledore in the castle. The night previous she had been tormented by a nightmare of Voldemort storming Hogwarts, and had awoken well before dawn without any hope of falling back to sleep. Now, she was listlessly eating porridge in the Great Hall with her friends, occasionally shooting Umbridge glares as she sipped her tea.

“Hello, children!” the twins chorusing voices were far louder than the hum of dull conversation that surrounded them at Gryffindor table. Harry’s head shot up with Hermione’s, and he blinked owlishly at the twins. Ron had rested his chin in his palm and closed his eyes in exasperation.

“We are literally _two years_ younger than you,” he groaned at his elder siblings. “Let it go.”

“Never,” George laughed, high-fiving Fred and ruffling Ginny’s hair wildly. Their younger sister growled in displeasure, trying to finger-comb it back in place.

Fred perched his elbow atop Hermione’s head, as if she were some armrest. She reached back to slap him and hissed, “For the love of _God_ , Fred Weasley!” - which just made everyone laugh; even Harry for a moment. Fred slid onto the bench beside Hermione, entirely closer than he needed to be, and leaned across the table with a conspiratorial air. George had settled beside Ron on the opposite side of the table and stolen a piece of bacon off his plate, much to his younger brother’s displeasure.

“Now, I think we’ve given our new Headmistress a nice, easy first week,” Fred began.

“Really let her dip her toes in the water, ease into things, you know,” George continued.

“ _Right_ ,” Ginny snorted, then waved off their mock glares. “Oh no, don’t let me stop you! Continue.”

Hermione’s mind immediately went to the taunting banner that had been strung up across the entrance to the Headmaster’s office, reading “ _Property of Albus Dumbledore!_ ” in ink that flashed red, blue and yellow. It seemed to celebrate the obstinate gargoyle whom sat resolutely in front of the door, refusing to permit Umbridge entry – or at least that’s what Lee Jordan had overheard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Sprout. _“I swear,” he had recounted in awe. “I heard her_ snickering _about it!”_ The banner had been torn down and shredded by Filch within an hour, but not before several dozen students had laid eyes on it and told the entire school.

“Like we were saying,” Fred took on a patronizing tone as he rested his elbows on the table, “A nice, easy first week.”

“So I don’t suppose you know anything about that banner then, huh?” Ron asked, one eyebrow creeping up.

“What banner?” the twins chorused. It was Ron’s turn to snort. _“Right.”_

“Regardless- we’ve given our new, most esteemed Headmistress a rather generous grace period,” George concluded.

“We think it’s time to throw her a proper welcoming party,” Fred’s smirk was nearly chilling. “Brace yourselves. And if anyone asks, you definitely saw George and I walk into the Transfiguration classroom ten minutes early for our third period lesson.”

“With my own two eyes,” Hermione agreed solemnly. She tried not to flush at the delighted smile growing across Fred’s face, instead looking at Harry, who was perking up for the first time in days.

“You think McGonagall’s going to cover for you?” Ron whispered, shooting a furtive look up at the head table where their strict professor was sipping her tea (with excellent posture). Like a hawk, McGonagall turned her head to make eye contact with Ron and raised an eyebrow. Ron ducked his head down into his plate, and the professor slowly blinked at the group. If Hermione wasn’t mistaken, McGonagall gave a near-imperceptible shrug before turning to answer a question Professor Sinistra had just asked her.

“Trust me, young Ronald, McGonagall hates the old bat more than Fred and I combined,” George assured. “Which is actually quite an impressive feat, considering...”

Angelina Johnson cut in from slightly further down the table, grinning wildly. “We have to do career advising in seventh-year, too, and Umbridge sat in on mine. The sheer, distilled contempt in the way McGonagall looked at that cow… I hope to be half so intimidating one day.”

“You’re almost there already,” Ron muttered, and the conversation devolved from there into undignified squawks and friendly ribbing. Hermione looked around the table, and wished that every morning could be like this. Fred caught her gaze, and something in her eyes made his expression soften. He smiled quite sincerely at her, and pressed his thigh against hers on the bench, almost as if to say _‘I wish that, too.’_

But of course, he didn’t really know what she was thinking. That was impossible.

…

Hermione ostensibly was working on her Arithmancy homework, but her mind had long since wandered to much less useful pastures. Her quill remained in her hand, but her eyes were blank. She couldn’t stop thinking of Fred’s thigh against hers this morning. It was friendly, right? Friendly thigh-nudging? That was a thing that friends did, she was pretty sure. It was times like these that made Hermione wish she had a female best friend to talk to about boys and how confusing they were. Well, she had Ginny, it was true. _But,_ Hermione thought despairingly, _Ginny wasn’t exactly the person to go to about her older brother, now was she?_

Hermione supposed she could tell Parvati and Lavender, who would be delighted by the information. It’s not like her roommates would spill her secrets, Hermione knew that- at least not intentionally. But they would probably giggle and waggle their eyebrows and shoot her _significant looks_ whenever Fred was in the vicinity, which would be humiliating. No, she was on her own dealing with whatever was happening with Fred. If anything even _was_ happening with him. Hermione wasn’t exactly sure, yet.

And speaking of how she couldn’t talk to Ginny about this… the younger girl was now standing on the stairs for the girl’s dormitory, shooting Hermione daggers with her eyes and tilting her head aggressively to say ‘ _come up_!’. She still owed the redhead an explanation from last week, and had been studiously avoiding her at every turn. Hermione gestured expansively at the coursework spread all across the table, hoping her dark undereye circles contributed to her ‘hopelessly busy!’ appearance. Ginny didn’t seem to buy it, crossing her arms across her chest and raising her eyebrows. Hermione sighed and began gathering up her things. Once that girl got something in her head, she was stubborn as a bull. Even worse than Harry, sometimes.

Her overfull bookbag weighed down her shoulder as she trooped up the staircase, Ginny herding her into the fourth-year girl’s room.

“Sit,” Ginny pointed at her bed, arms still folded and foot tapping. “There. You don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing in here.”

Hermione curled up along the foot of the bed, gathering the worn maroon blanket into her lap. “What is it, Ginny?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” Ginny retorted. “What were you doing with my brother last Thursday?”

“Nothing!” Hermione protested a touch too vehemently. “I just followed him when we all ran! I already told you about it.”

“If that’s the whole story, why are you turning red?” Ginny queried. Hermione willed down the blush that was beginning to creep down her neck.

“Am not,” she objected. Ginny just snorted, and flopped onto the bed beside Hermione. She grabbed her pillow to her stomach, and turned her head up to look the elder girl in the eye.

“If you like him, I won’t be mad,” Ginny reassured her. Hermione spluttered. How uncalled for! “Oh, don’t get all indignant. I know full well you like him.”

“I don’t!” Hermione balked. Ginny poked her ribcage, raising her eyebrows.

“You absolutely do.”

Hermione fell back onto the bed with a groan, throwing her arm over her eyes. “You can’t possibly know that.”

“Just because you haven’t admitted it to yourself doesn’t mean _I’m_ blind,” Ginny asserted, but her tone was gentle. Hermione slowly removed her arm from her face, and Ginny’s large brown eyes were gazing at her with sympathy. “You like Fred.”

“He kissed me,” Hermione muttered, pulling the blanket over her head a bit.

 _“What?”_ Ginny squawked. Hermione had regretted the words immediately, and wanted to shove them back into her mouth. “He _kissed you_? And you’ve been holding out on me all week!?”

“It wasn’t a big deal!” Hermione protested, sitting up straight and shoving the blanket off herself. Ginny scoffed unbelievingly. “No, really Ginny! It was just because Montague almost caught us. We hid in a broom cupboard and pretended to be snogging so he wouldn’t think we had been at the meeting.”

“That has got to be the dumbest thing I’ve heard in my whole life,” Ginny stated plainly. “Seriously. That is so stupid. You’re too smart not to realize how stupid that is.”

“It worked,” Hermione grumbled, now feeling the blush spread across her cheeks. Ginny gaped.

“ _Really?_ ” When Hermione just nodded in response, Ginny snorted again. “Damn, Montague’s even dumber than I thought. And that’s saying something.”

Hermione laughed, causing Ginny to launch into her own fit of giggles. It was like all the tension that had been building since Umbridge was made Headmistress released, leaving Hermione rolling on her friend’s bed in mirth. Her hair was in her eyes and getting hopelessly tangled, but Ginny had gone red from laughing so hard and Hermione thought she felt tears gathering from hilarity.

“Whatever,” Ginny eventually choked out, moving her pillow to rest under her cheek. “Fred couldn’t have known that would work. I know how he operates. He already wanted to kiss you and used that as a convenient excuse.”  
  
“You think so?” Hermione asked cautiously. Ginny tapped her nose playfully and nodded emphatically. Hermione rolled onto her back, blinking up at the red canopy covering. “Well… Okay. I _might_ like Fred.”

“I knew it!” Ginny pumped her fist, as if she had accomplished something. Hermione dragged herself off the bed and tried in vain to smooth down her hair. She slung her heavy bag back over her shoulder and headed for the staircase, ready to go to her room and finish her work for the night.

“See you at breakfast, Ginny,” she said.

“One more thing!” The redhead called, sitting up straight suddenly. Hermione whirled around, huffing in frustration.

“What now?” she asked exasperatedly.

“Good snog?” Ginny raised an eyebrow wickedly. Hermione blushed furiously again, but gave her a tiny nod. “Ha! Good. I don’t want to know any more about it, though.”

“You asked!”

“Well, I had to make sure everything was alright,” Ginny said reasonably. Hermione just closed her eyes, trying to find patience. Then turned on her heel and booked it out of Ginny’s room.

**Author's Note:**

> You can pry my head canon Hermione has curly hair that she doesn’t want to spend hours caring for which is why it’s described as a bushy mess constantly out of my cold dead hands thanks! Just thinking of the length and thickness of her hair as described in the books leads me to believe that it would take her legitimately hours to wash, style and dry her hair, and teenage Hermione did not have the time or patience for that level of personal grooming. Also, her mom had straight hair so nobody ever told her not to brush curly hair out for god’s sake. Okay I’m done now.
> 
> "Kissing to avoid detection" is one of my favorite hyper-specific tropes, and in fact I have a Young Justice fic from many years ago where I used it! I hope my writing has improved a tad since then, however. This could be read as being in the same universe as my other fremione fic "devils roll the dice", but I sort of wrote it as though that little post-detention heart-to-heart hadn't happened in the world of this fic. However, they're so closely related I don't see why they can't be in the same AU! Title is once more from Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Expect a follow-up chapter by the New Year (at least, that's what I'm trying to manifest)!


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